Cracked
by ElenaBolton21
Summary: How much time does one have until they've completely cracked? [rated MA (Mature Adult Content) for graphic sexual content and strong coarse language. some M/M sexual relations]
1. Prologue

**New Story!(: Troy suffers from DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder-commonly known as Multiple Personality Disorder..) the Dissociative personality is Tabby; a dominant, seductive woman who lures men with her woeful eyes and promises of a hot night in. Troy, the male and subservient personality, has the MO and does the raping and suffocating of the victims. **

**Agent Gabriella Montez is a special agent for the FBI. She doesn't necessarily fall for Troy in a "sex right away" way, but more so in a "deep connection", "best friend in love with best friend" kind of way. **

**This is a **_short_** story. **

**Synopsis: San Fran on spring break, parties and spring breakers, bon fires on the beach at midnight. The SFPD get a body, naked and male. A week into the case, another body turns up a block from the first dumpsite of the first victim. The FBI is called in, and there are more false leads than suspects. Until Troy Bolton walks into the police station with his eyes down cast and his arms wrapped around himself; submissive Troy, small and fair with no-back bone, makes it onto the suspect list when he starts appearing more involved in the case than he or his sister has said. The question is: how much time does someone have until they are completely cracked?**

**Cracked**

_By ElenaBolton20_

_**prologue**_

**The **halls smelled of bleach and heavy cleaning chemicals, doors lined the walls—doors with small square windows in the middle that makes it easy for nurses and doctors to peek through to see what their patient is doing. To see if it's safe for them to enter without random bursts of shouting or threats of death; some of the patients sit calmly in the middle of their rooms with their knee's drawn and their foreheads touching as they rock back and forth. Others pace rambunctiously around their rooms, callously bumping into the furniture as an attempt to bring nurses to them who swing open their doors and there's a glimmer of hope of a chance to escape.

"She's in here." Says Dr. Morris, holding a black clipboard to her chest as her stiletto pumps clack on the tiled flooring, she gestures to a faded baby blue door with a pretty roses hanging in a basket with a stuffed cat poking its head out.

The agent bites her lip, mumbling a thank you to the doctor and grabbing the door knob. She inhales deeply, peeking through the tiny window to see the patient sitting peacefully on the couch, wearing pink scrubs and holding a cigarette lighter in their hand. There's minimal light in the room, the agent can't see their eyes, only the lips that are in a straight, grim line. "Try not to upset her…she's had some accidents in the past few weeks."

"Accidents?" The agent asks, her brows rising to her hairline, big brown eyes wide and shiny. "What do you—"

"Just…let her smoke, talk to her calmly." Dr. Morris says, biting her lip as she takes a step away from the door. "I realize that you'd want your privacy, Agent, so when you're done just push the button by the door."

The agent nods, turning towards the door and pulling it open. Her heart beating a mile a minute, she takes a step inside the room; letting the door shut. The person on the couch doesn't turn, they just click the lighter over and over again, an unlit cigarette behind her left ear as she curls her lips into a barely there smile. "Hello, Agent Montez, what brings you to visit little ol' me?"

"Tabby." Agent Montez says, forcing herself to take another step forward until she's directly in front of the woman. "I thought they didn't allow smoking?"

"I'm not smoking if the cigarette is not lit." Tabby says, clicking the lighter open then turning on the flame, the magnificent dancing colors of yellow and orange with a hint of blue at the base of the small pyre. "You're avoiding the question, dearie, what is it you came for?"

Agent Montez swallows, trying to calm her heart as she sits in a chair with four wheels on the legs. She rests her hands on her knees; her black hair thick in waves as they run to the middle of her back. The left side pinned up in a sophisticated do. "I came to speak to Troy."

Tabby laughs, pulling the cigarette from her ear and putting it between her lips, carefully lighting it and taking a long pull; leaning her head back against the couch, closing her eyes for a minute as she allows the warmth of the cigarette to spread through her body. "That's cute, doll, but Troy hasn't been home in a while." _Doubt he'll come back. _

The unspoken words make Agent Montez' stomach curl into knots. "I know why he created you, what he went through as a child—"

"You have no clue." Tabby's voice remains cold and icy, her eyes still hidden in darkness, "don't pretend, it's not attractive."

"Fine," Agent Montez whispers angrily, trying to keep her anger in check as she fists her hands under her arms. "Then why did you do it?"

Tabby takes another pull on the cigarette, taking a moment to remain silent as she lets the warmth fill her some more; the smell makes Agent Montez nauseous, her throat itching with a cough and dry heave; she doesn't pretend to know nothing of what Agent Montez asked, like she said before, it's not attractive. "I did it because Troy was weak and let those men trample him, so I helped him. I lured them, he raped them."

She sounds almost proud, it's sickening and disturbing. _How does Troy feel about what happened? _That's her question, Troy's the one she wants to be talking to.

"When will you let him out?" Tabby looks at her, she can feel the woman's gaze in the darkness, she doesn't shuffle nervously even though she's shaking so hard on the inside.

"You miss him, don't you?" another pull on the damned cigarette, then Tabby taps it twice; releasing the ash to the tray on the side table. Agent Montez chews the inside of her cheek, not saying anything. Not giving Tabby the satisfaction of getting under her skin. "You are so see-through."

"Transparent, you mean?"

"Don't correct me," Tabby's voice is strangely calm as she snuffs out her cancer stick as she runs fingers through her reddish hair; it's hard to tell if it's a wig. Maybe if the light were brighter, it'd be easier to tell, but with the light so dim… "What do you see in him?"

Agent Montez fists her hands, fighting the urge to fuck her career and beat this…well, beat Tabby to the ground and order her to bring Troy back, but that's not how this works. It's not how any of this works. Tabby is sick, very sick, and treating her is part of the doctor's effort but most of her own.

According to Dr. Morris, Tabby hasn't put much effort into her treatments. Swallowing, she stands from her chair and moves to sit on the couch beside Tabby.

The other woman doesn't move, doesn't speak, she taps the arm of the couch in a rhythm that plays through her head. It's silent, and they just stare…agent Montez stares at Tabby and Tabby stares into space—precisely at the other wall that has a picture of a hanging plant with a cat trying to climb inside. This room is supposed to put off the aura of peace, but…there's something about it that's just…off.

Not put off, not creepy. Just off.

Suddenly, Tabby laughs, "Troy wants out, you know."

Her voice sounds so cold, callous. Agent Montez shrugs her shoulders; rolling them stiffly and straightening her spine. "Then let him out."

"Oh doll," Tabby purrs, switching legs to cross them the opposite of the way they'd been. She flips her hair over her shoulder; there's a spot of netting revealed as she does so, her reddish hair is a wig—Troy's dish water blond hair is flattened and combed back; obviously to fit under the wig. "You're amusing." _Troy will never be free. _

"Tabby…" Agent Montez says, "Please—"

"Agent," Tabby says, turning toward her and pouting her shiny lips. "Listen to me when I say, I'm not going anywhere…I like it here."

**Review!**


	2. 1: Troy Bolton

**Cracked**

_Troy Bolton_

**Past**

_He is safe. He should be. Daddy never looks here, uncle gives up after an hour or so. What about his other uncle? Troy huddles in the corner, tightening the hold he has on his knees as he feels tears run down his face. He hopes he's safe, he doesn't want to be found. _

_He wants to be at that place that mommy used to sing about in that song when he was little, about the adventure of pirates and soldiers all a-glitter in armor that shined in the sun. That's the place he wants to be, he wants to cling to a soldier or a pirate and feel safe. But no. He's in this place, where the people are mean and they try things to make him hurt badly. "Mommy.." little Troy cries, pressing his back against the wall as he hears footsteps—whether or not they are fading, he can't tell. He buries his face into his knees and lets the tears escape. _

"_Where are you, you little brat!" Daddy yells, or it could be either of his uncles, they sound the same; so much it terrifies Troy. _

Say nothing. Make no noise. _He tells himself, closing his eyes, his lips and body trembling. Why can't he tell the footsteps are getting closer or farther? _Think of the song. Think of mommy's song.

_Easier said than done, mommy used to sing it when everything was quiet; when all he could hear at night time before bed was her voice as she sadly smiled at him. Every night she sang to him, until she left. _

"_Come out, come out, little mouse!" Which uncle was that? One of them always calls him little mouse, was it Uncle Nathan? Uncle Matt? "Come out and play!" _

_He doesn't want to play, not their games. Troy makes himself smaller, making no noise; singing that song in his head as he envisions himself leaving the room, going to somewhere else where things like this never happened. Where all they did was love him and hug him—his door opens, he can hear it. The thundering footsteps disappear and soon all is quiet. _

_Too quiet. Except for the whispered voices, "he's in this room." One of them says, "I know it, spread and search it." _

There's a land beyond the stars,

A ship of gold and light,

It travels beyond and far,

To where the sun shines so bright.

_His mind plays the song over and over again. He looks around the small closet, there's not any crawl spaces or anything that can cover him in a lump to make him disappear. His only hope is that they overlook the closet and leave; his heart beats inside his little chest as he watches the door in anticipation. Is it wrong to expect the best outcome? When all he's ever gotten is the worst possible._

_The closet is ripped open, standing in front of him with gleaming smiles that scare him are his uncles; while his father just glares. "Hello, little mouse." Uncle Nathan says, looking Troy up and down as he steps inside the closet and grabs his arm. Troy fights, grunting and yelling at the top of his lungs until he feels his chest burn from the effort. His father grabs his hair, taking him from his uncle, tossing him on the bed. _

"_You know you shouldn't run like that, Troy." His father holds that glare, undoing his pants and taking off his belt. "Didn't I tell you that you do what I tell you?"_

"_Dad-daddy..." he whimpers, trying to sit up and run away, but his Uncle Nathan and Uncle Matt hold him down; lifting the hem of the blue cotton dress they had slipped him in. He looks delectable in it. Daddy pulls down his power ranger's underwear, gently running the belt over his bare buttocks; Troy wets himself in fear, his uncles and father laugh. They do that, laugh, as daddy always runs the belt over his buttocks gently before lifting it over his head and then letting it hit Troy's skin with a crack; leather against skin. Troy cries out, tears running down his face as he bunches the blanket beneath him in his mouth. "Daddy…p-please…"_

"_I didn't tell you to run." His daddy says calmly, running the belt gently over his buttocks again before hitting him again. "Did your uncles tell you?" _

_The two of them shake their heads as they guffaw. "Nope," Matt says, his eyes gleaming in the darkness, "we didn't offer to play hide and seek." Daddy hits him again. _

_Troy bites into the blanket, letting his tears soak his bed—along with the wet that he releases in fear. "Da-daddy…please…I-I…I'm sorry." _

"_You hear that?" Daddy says, chuckling, putting the belt down and pulling down his jeans to his knees as he gets on the bed and straddles his little hips. "He's sorry." Troy's heart beats quickly, pounding behind his ribs, he tries to push away, but his uncle's hold him down. They laugh as they fondle him, tears gush down his face in waves. _

"_Leave us." Daddy says, they groan in annoyance, sputtering excuses, but they leave when Daddy does something—Troy doesn't know, daddy could've just glared. He's good at that. When they are alone, he leans down, whispering in Troy's ear as he pulls at his hair. "Sorry isn't good enough, you are…" daddy thrusts inside him, pressing hard on his flower, "…are rotten, poor excuse…" another thrust and a bite to the shoulder, "…for a son." _

**Present**

"No!" Troy jolts awake, sweat covering his skin and tears running down his face as he sits up and looks around his room. He's not there. Not at his father's house. His uncle's aren't here, they …they…he doesn't know where they are. His father his…he at his home disappointed and sad that Troy left at eighteen to live in San Francisco with his sister; the same sister his mother took away when she was born, but left him to suffer in that hell he grew up in with his father and uncles. He relaxes as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed he had bought with his money.

His sister, Annalee, had picked it out. It was the first choice, he had wanted the pull out bed that was a couch, but Annalee had said that would be too heavy to carry up the stairs to the condo.

He bought it without argument. He doesn't want his sister to turn on him like his father and uncle's had done; he couldn't bare it if she had decided to ever take a belt to his ass and raped him too. Of course, there's only so much a woman can do…but still, there's already so much he can handle.

So much his fractured soul can take.

Standing up and stretching, he walks to the north wall in his room, taking the sheet off the mirror. His eyes are a dark blue; a dark navy, and are lined with bags underneath to make him appear older and more weary—that could be natural, he's had those for years. He tries to smile, it hurts, so he lets his face fall into the sad, stoic mask. He sniffles as he puts the sheet back up. Tabby gets mad if she finds that he forgot to put the sheet back up.

She doesn't like looking at herself too often.

"Troy." The knock on the door makes him jump, backing up into the wall and holding his arms around himself. "Troy, its-its Annalee…can I come in?"

"I-I…." he swallows, moving away from the wall, gripping the door knob and opening it only so his head can poke through. "I'm-I'm getting dressed."

"Troy…you're in your room too much." Annalee says, looking at him while trying to look behind him. He looks down, he doesn't make eye contact; he knows what would happen if he looked anyone in the eye. What happens when he dares to look Annalee in the eye? "Troy—"

"I like it…"

She puts a hand on the door, trying to push it open, but he holds it shut with his foot. "Troy, please…"

"I-I…I am…" he swallows, "I just have…to be alone—"

"You're always alone, Troy." Annalee says, trying to smile at her little brother, but he won't look at her. It's hard to smile at someone who won't ever smile back. "There's a party on the beach tonight…it's Spring Break."

She wants him to come. He can't. "Annalee—"

"Think about it?"

He can't, what if he sees ….he shakes his head, closing his eyes and squeezing them shut against the noise in his head. Biting his lip when the noise becomes too much. Suddenly the noise is quieted by a voice, a female voice that's calmed Troy for years when he was living with his father's uncle's abuse, she puts her hands on his shoulder and pulls him back into the safest part of his mind. Telling him everything is okay, everything will be fine.

He feels himself sway backwards, in his mind he's sitting on a chair that's puffy and a burgundy coloring. _"Tabby?" _

_She smiles at him, her red hair hanging over her shoulders in soft curls that go down to her mid back. She's wearing a blue dress that goes to her knees and hugs her curves. Her blue pumps match perfectly. "Just relax, Troy."_

"_But—"_

"_I'll handle everything." Troy nods, watching as she turns on her heel and walks to the door; an ancient door that looks medieval with chipping paint and a gold peep hole high in the middle. _

Tabby smiles, seductive and calm, she opens the door and leans on the doorframe. "Maybe I can…check it out for a while."

Annalee looks at her curiously, "uh…Troy, are you feeling okay?"

Tabby laughs, leaning her head back and crossing her arms over her chest. "I feel great, I'll be down in a minute…just let me get dolled up."

**Review!**


	3. 2: Tabby

A/N: _for this chapter the songs are "Far From Home" by Frank Stallone and "Still Of The Night" by WhiteSnake_

**Cracked**

_Tabby_

**Present**

The music blares loudly through the stereo speakers; from the point of origin-it's easy to guess the noise is coming from the pickup parked on the edge of the sandy beach. Not what Tabby would listen to, in fact, she would rather put on the sweet dulcet sounds of Frank Stallone or Frank Sinatra—oh how seducing those two men are. Just their voices make any woman swoon to her knees.

Smoothing her red hair, making sure it's in place and every curl is curled and pulled in to the half up, half down hair style that she fell in love with about ten years ago, she walks across the sand to where there is a bon fire; men and women laugh joyfully while holding drinks in their hands and cigarettes in the other.

Hmm. Tabby's never been one to smoke, but the think with Troy…he's always too careful. _I'll try one. _Who knows, she'll like it perhaps.

Smirking seductively, she taps an attractive, broad shouldered man on his shoulder and waves at him genially. "Hey, doll." She says in her southern bell accent.

"Well, heeeeeeeeey," he sticks his hands in his pockets, leaning back so he can look at her better. His brown hair dangling in his eyes—which appear in green in the firelight, but can be grey or some shade of blue. She rolls her eyes, keeping her lips in that smirk. He must think she is amused by the way he dragged out the word 'hey' but really, she wishes he would learn to speak correctly. "What can I do for you?"

She reaches slowly with her hand, pulling the cigarette that's behind his ear out and holding it between them. She kisses the tip of his nose before she whispers, "Got a light?"

He chuckles, reaching into his left back pocket and pulling out some matches; how magnificent that ass must be? Lighting the match, he holds it out to her and she leans forward to light the cancer stick and then inhale slowly.

The warmth from the cigarette warms her. Closing her eyes, she lets the warmth spread all over before inhaling another drag. "Mmm.." she whispers, her eyes still closed. Images dance across her lids; pictures of bright colors and varying shapes.

"You like that?" Mr. All Shoulders says, she opens her eyes when the fluttering images disappear. She smiles at him.

"Why yes," she says, dropping the cigarette to the ground and snubbing it out. "It's…warm."

He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck nervously and biting his lip as he holds his hand out to her in invitation, "want to dance?"

Her eyes flash. Inside the deep chasms of her mind, she feels Troy rise off his chair as a memory stirs in them both.

"_Dance, little mouse." Uncle Matt says, sitting on the couch as he watches his fifteen year old nephew grip the pole and dance slowly around it in the tight leather he was forced into—while Troy was held down and by his dad and other uncle. Curse his father for having been born. _

_Curse his grandfather for not being able to control cock and giving his dad two twin brothers. _

"_That's right," his dad says, reaching down his pants to grip himself. "Grind on it…dance to the music." _

_Troy grips the pole so tight that his knuckles change color, the leather is suffocating and he can hardly breathe. He closes his eyes to pretend to be somewhere else, but that no longer works. The prospect of leaving this hell shattered five years ago when his dad had been angry and drunk enough to sell Troy to his uncle's, who had their own fun with him; and their neighbors wanted to have their fun too. _

_For twenty bucks per person, Troy has more experience than any fifteen year old should have. _

_He also has more anger than any person should have. _

"You want to dance?" His voice brings her out of the memory, mentally, she's trying to calm Troy as she sits him back in his chair. She blinks several times before the man in front of her becomes clearer than that dark memory. She smiles as the anger boils inside her.

"Of course." She takes his hand, leading him to the dance floor—which is just a circle of people swirling and grinding on each other around the huge bon fire. The music changes to her favorite Frank Stallone song, she smiles big and runs her hands down his chest; teasing his nipples through the thin fabric of his shirt. He smiles, leaning his forehead on hers.

"You like to dance dirty." It's not a question, but an observation. Tabby laughs, stealing a kiss chastely before pulling away.

"I'm just a dirty girl, I guess."

He kisses her lips, slowly and sensually, making it last longer than hers. "Well….I guess you just need to be spanked huh?"

She laughs again, trailing two of her fingers down to the button on his jeans, rubbing her nose against his. "Maybe…but I think I'd like to be in charge for a little while."

"There's no harm in that." His hands rest on her hips, sliding down to rub her ass; round and plump and just…perfect. "Absolutely no harm."

She giggles, grabbing his wrist and squeezing gently, "Well come on then, I live not far from here."

"I have a car…" he says, following her to the parking lot. He pulls her back, making her turn around quickly and bump into his chest, he holds her tight to him. He licks her nose seductively—or it's supposed to be seductive, Tabby just cringes slightly and fights the urge to wipe his saliva off on his shirt. Memories that will never seem to be buried hit her hard and fuel her anger.

She smiles away her cringe, "lead the way then."

_Annalee Bolton_

Troy was supposed to be here. He said that he'd come, that it sounded fun. Looking around, he wasn't here; the bon fire was encircled by everybody dancing and laughing. There's Chad and Taylor dancing, then there's Sharpay and …some random guy she's never met before, but she has a feeling that the eccentric blond would be introducing him to her soon.

Oh no, if she's planning on setting Annalee up with him. "Worry about it later," she says, shaking her head as she walks around, looking for Troy. Ryan and Kelsi are making out on the side; holding each other so close, it's obvious to know they are trying to magically make their clothes disappear without actually taking them off.

"Troy…" Annalee whispers, looking away from the kissing couple. "This is so not how I pictured spending the first night of spring break," she sees a man and woman leaving, peculiar, but most likely they are just a couple of horny rabbits who wants some private time. She won't worry about it. Going away from the two of them, she walks toward the surf; watching the wave's crash among themselves as they glisten under the moon. Troy would love the waves, he would be sitting in the sand with his sketchbook and a charcoal pencil.

He's such an amazing artist.

Gaaaaaah, where is he? "Troy I swear, I will put you in the corner for an hour—I don't care how flipping old you are."

She runs her fingers through her hair, pinching the bridge of her nose to keep the headache that is coming on away. Startled when a hand touches the small of her back, she jumps and thwacks some poor sap in the face.

Oh it's just Jason. "Damn it, Cross!" Annalee yells, "What the hell are you doing?"

"You hit me in the nose.." he holds his nose with his left hand, a couple beers in the right. "Damn, you have a good hook."

She rolls her eyes at the comment, "You shouldn't sneak up on people."

"Yeah yeah."

"What do you want?"

He holds up the beers, "Saw you out here alone, and thought you'd might want company."

"You're sweet…really," how long must it be plainly obvious that he wants to get in her pants? He's been trying since college. She pushes his hand with the beers gently away. "But I don't drink when I'm worried."

"Worried about what?" Jason asks, sitting on the sand and opening one of the beers; taking a long pull. Shaking her head, Annalee sits down and takes the other beer. _Can't beat 'em or scare 'em away, I might as well get drunk with 'em. _

"My brother said he'd come here, he is always alone so I thought he'd might want some fun—"

"Maybe he left with a girl."

She chokes on her beer, spitting it back into the bottle so it doesn't come out in a spray from her boisterous laugh. "No-n-no," she laughs, "Troy isn't like that. He's shy."

Jason shrugs, taking another pull from his beer. "He could've been drunk."

"He doesn't drink."

"High?"

"Doesn't smoke weed, or does any other sort of drug."

He smacks his lips, looking out at the ocean as he drinks from the bottle again, "I got nothing else."

She laughs, taking another pull of beer from the bottle and letting the cold liquid run down her throat. She prefers the burn of whiskey, but that's expensive and beer is common at parties like this. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Hey!" Annalee laughs again, gently pushing his shoulder, however he pouts while his eyes smile. "That wasn't very nice."

"Payback. For scaring the shit out of me."

"You're easy to scare—and don't hit me!"

Annalee shakes her head, setting the beer on the sand and stretching like a cat as she lays back to look up at the clear sky; the moon surrounded by a million—no billion—twinkling little stars. Jason sighs, watching her as she closes her eyes and breathes slowly. She counts silently to herself._ You worry too much, maybe Troy's here and he's having fun. Maybe he met some nice girl like Jason said….yeah, maybe you're worrying over nothing end-of-the-world-sky-is-falling-on-top-of-me worthy._

She just needs to relax.

_Tabby_

Oh he looks marvelous. All sprawled and tied up like that on the bed. His wrists haven't turned red yet from the ropes, but that's fine, he hasn't begun fighting. His mouth is gagged with pantyhose that's been stuffed under his tongue and wrapped around his head three times. If he screams, no one will hear him besides her, Troy and of course…mr. All Shoulders himself.

Her heels clacking on the floor, she grabs the cup of water tight in her hand. "Wakey wakey," she hums, dumping it on his dark locks. He jolts awake. Eyes wide, muscles tense as he tries to pull his wrists and ankles from the sprawled position. She laughs.

"You fight all you want, doll face." She purrs, going to the bed and straddling his hips. She digs her nails into the flesh of his back; right where his dimples are. He bites into the pantyhose. "You see….I protect him. He needs my protection, and you…all you men think about is hurting others and Troy's been hurt enough."

He protests through the gag again, she grabs his head by the hair and hits him into the base board of the bed. "Shut up! Take it like a man! Like Troy had to!"

"_Tabby," Troy says, "I don't know if I can do this…" _

_Tabby looks at him, her full lips pouting and her eyes shining brightly. Like they always do. "Troy," she moves his hair from his face, she hates it when he hides his eyes from her. They are too beautiful to be hidden. "You can do this, your dad…your uncle's—they humiliated you. They hurt you. They made it so—"_

"_I can't hurt anybody who—"_

"_He would've hurt you!" She yells, shoving him back onto a bed that seems to have just appeared behind him out of thin air. He looks at her with fear in his eyes, fear that is quickly replaced when she hands him a whip that also seems too materialized from nothing. "Now it's your turn. Hurt him back. Make him pay…make them pay for what they've done."_

_He's never been more tempted. "What if they come after me?" _

_She cups his face, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. "I will handle everything, doll. Don't you worry about it. I'll take care of the ones who dare to come after you." _

_Blinking, Troy nods, gripping the whip tight in his hand and bringing it back over his head. With a snap, he comes back to the world as Tabby watches through his eyes. _

And he makes Mr. All Shoulders pay.

**Review!**


	4. 3: Gabriella Montez

A/N: _song for this chapter is "Time Of Dying" by Three Days Grace - the soundtrack list for this story is: Frank Stallone's "Far From Home", WhiteSnake's "Still Of The Night" and Three Days Grace's "Time Of Dying". If you haven't heard those songs before, listen to them and you'll see how they fit. If you have a song for this story so far, let me know and I'll give it a listen. _

**Cracked**

_Gabriella Montez_

**Present—two weeks later**

"Mitchel McDermott." Grace Silver says, clicking a remote to show the graphic pictures of the young male on the screen, "he was found two weeks ago with abrasion marks on his wrists and ankles, signs of sexual assault and …this…" she clicks to the next slide, showing a close up of the young man's neck—a red cut that is deep and full of dirt and infected warts. Gabriella looks down at the file in front of her, taking in the clues of the case from the local San Fran PD; she'll be adding her own when she and her team fly out there.

"It looks like he was suffocated—"

"Yes," Grace says, clicking the remote again, the screen turning black as she turns to face the rest of the team.

Grace Silver, best friend to Gabriella, graduated the academy with her with top marks, has strawberry blond hair with grey eyes like thunder clouds. They are the same height but very different in personality; Gabriella sticks to the books and reads fact after fact from the encyclopedia library in her small apartment. Lately, she's been reading about heroin addiction—the last time she was on a case a few years ago, she had come acquainted with the substance and has been harboring the dark little secret.

Grace is boisterous and loud and just…weird. From her neon pink shoes to her black skinny jeans and bright pink dress shirt with her FBI badge dangling in front. Eccentric to the core, Grace is the sister Gabriella never had.

And is thankful that she doesn't have one most days when she is going through hard times with her heroin problem.

David John, all muscle and cocky smile with sexy eyes. Mm. He and Grace flirt daily but have nothing going between them. Something about 'not wanting to mess up a good work-relationship'…uh huh. "What was used in the suffocation? Plastic bag or pillow?" David asks, his Hispanic accent mixing well with his Italian. Hmm… his hair falls into the brain that goes to the middle of his back.

"Italian cuisine, there was a plastic bag used for the cutting off of the air supply."

Gabriella rolls her eyes, "the signs of sexual assault, obviously done by a man but who lured him?"

"Police don't know, this is the second victim in two weeks."

"Second victim?" David asks, his lips curling into a frown; the corners disappearing in his goatee. "Who was the first?"

Grace shrugs, "police don't know." She slides another folder with a picture of an attractive male with broad shoulders and a cocky smile with come hither eyes, "he had no ID, no wallet, when his body was found on the front steps of the police station."

"Front steps of the station?" Gabriella asks, her eyebrows raising to the sky as she looks at the picture of the John Doe. He looks about twenty two or twenty three, his face pale and dark circles under his eyes. "That's bold."

"Yeah," David agrees, "and if this guy gets bolder then there's no telling when he will pick up his next victim."

Grace nods, "what about the possibility of this being a team?"

"Like a man and woman team?" Gabriella asks, "The woman lure's the men and the man rapes them? It's possible, the man doing the raping suggests he has a lot of aggression."

"That makes sense." David says, tapping his copy of the case folder with a pencil, "shall we head out?"

"Yeah," Grace says, standing up and pushing in her chair—ever so proper. Gabriella rolls her eyes, _fucking bitch. _She stands and puts her hands in her back pockets as she walks out to the jet. Her badge fastened to her belt next to her gun holster.

It's not like she dislikes her friends, it's just that she feels they don't get her half the time. She wears long sleeves to hide the marks on her arm from the needle she stabs into her skin from her heroin feeding. She is aware that her hair is in constant disarray; pulled back in a never-ending series of pony tails with hair ties that have plastic balls on the elastic. Grace is bold in her colors, always bright and sunny in her morning greetings.

Gabriella only smiles and mumbles a hello.

David nods but is still polite and cordial.

Sometimes they make her feel like a real bitch most days; and she wishes they would just spend a day in her shoes, but that would mean telling them her secret…and she's not about to do that.

Ever.

_Troy Bolton_

His knees are scabbed, his fingers wrinkly and soaked from the rag as he scrubs the floor. The mirrors around his room covered, just like Tabby likes them. His heart beating fast as if he expects his uncle Matt and uncle Nathan to pop out of nowhere and grab him by the shoulders, dragging him to his bed where his father waits to "teach him a lesson". His spine shivers and his muscles tense as he scrubs the floor harder. His fingers bleeding slightly from the pressure he uses.

"_They won't hurt you, Troy." _He hears Tabby whisper in his head, he feels a ghost of a hand on his shoulder. A gentle touch that calms his nerves and makes him ease the pressure off the rag; he sits back on his knees; wrapping his arms around himself and bowing his head as tears build in his eyes.

"What if they come after me again?" He can feel Tabby lay a kiss on his cheek, he wishes she was real instead of just a woman who comforted him since adolescence.

"_I'm as real as you want me to be, babydoll." Tabby says, sitting on the floor in front of Troy, running her manicured fingers through his hair. He won't look at her. She can try, but he won't. Those bastards ruined him, he…they broke him. "Oh Troy," she says gently, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him to her; his tears fall onto her bare shoulder—her halter dress tight against her body, making her curves more pronounced. _

"_I don't want them to come after me." He cries, "I-I want them to leave me alone." _

"_Sh," she whispers, rubbing his back. "They won't come after you. They won't hurt you." _

"_b-but—"_

"_Not if you hurt them first." _

Troy sniffles, looking down at the wet floor. It's not even close to being finished, and he has more to do after, but …he just wants to take things for himself. Just this once. Wiping his eyes, he stands on his feet, picking up the rag and the bucket. He walks to his room, setting the cleaning things on the floor by the closet as he walks to a large covered mirror. He can feel Tabby watching through his eyes, her words echoing in his skull as he pulls the sheet down to see himself. His skin is pale, eyes dark and hair all disheveled.

Closing his eyes, he imagines what he'd be like if he had a normal childhood. With a mom who sang to him when he was in bed, ready to sleep. A dad who would teach him to play basketball and run track, instead of dress him up like a common whore and….and….

_There's a land beyond the stars, _

_A ship of gold and light, _

_It travels beyond and far, _

_To where the sun shines so bright. _

His eyes open, the words to his mother's song singing in his head like a distant memory. If he concentrates, he can smell her perfume—_"Not if they hurt you first." _She left him. She took Annalee with her from the hospital and just left him behind to suffer the hands of his dad and his uncle's….

She hurt him first.

She didn't touch him wrongly, she didn't dress him like a whore, but she cut the first scar on his soul.

Nothing but that stupid…that stupid, idiotic song to torture him of something he once had, lost and then never had again. Annalee…she's innocent isn't she? In all this, what had she done? She lived with the woman who chose her over Troy. Loved the woman who chose her over him. Didn't know she had an older brother until she was sixteen.

She didn't try to save him either.

He touches the mirror, feeling the anger swell deep inside him as he balls his hand into a fist and hits it with such a force that it shatters, shards stabbing into his knuckles; blood stinging the cuts, but he doesn't feel them. He feels himself get pulled back into the safety of his mind, cradled like he matters by the one woman he can count on. The one woman who would dare to hurt him…

Who would do anything to defend him; she's like a sister, a mother and lover all at once. He can always count on Tabby.

**Review!**


	5. 4: Gabriella Montez

A/N: _The song for this chapter is "Welcome To My Life" by Simple Plan._

**Cracked**

_Gabriella Montez_

The flight from DC to San Francisco is long; long being an understatement with Grace and David not so secretly playing footsie under the table while they go over the files, make lists of different possibilities to put together a suspect. So far, they are thinking of a team: male and female; it makes sense that the female would lure the men but it also wouldn't make sense how she is connected to the male half of the team—male/female teams don't last long without one or both members of the team devolving and getting sloppy; thus leaving a trail of bread crumbs that will lead the force to them …or have one of the members out of fear go to the police for fear of the other half doing something stupid or when the said other half starts noticing the devolvement of the team.

So much for love conquers all.

Her fingers twitch, pulse racing as she leans back against the seat of the jet and closes her eyes. She can overcome this. At least for a while. Biting her lip, Gabriella mentally counts in Spanish, singing an old Cherokee lullaby that her father used to sing to her as a toddler and as a teenager when she got her heartbroken—which was a lot, being Geeky Gabby with glasses and a fetish for crime novels and hanging out the police station in the coroner's office, she got made fun of. A lot. One time, Billy Chris, her junior year crush, asked her to homecoming.

Excitedly, she accepted and ran home after school to tell her mom so they can go dress shopping.

"_Mama!" Gabriella yells, slamming the door behind her and dropping her backpack on the floor. Her wild mass of raven hair in a perm that is untamed and sticking out in all directions from her running home. Her heart hammering in her chest, a light sheen of sweat lining her arms as her ankles quiver from the effort. She walks briskly to the kitchen where her mom is leaning over the counter reading a cookbook by Rachel Ray. "Guess what, guess what!"_

"_Gabriella, _mija," _Rosita says, looking up from the cook book for a minute to see her anxious daughter bouncing on her feet. "Calm yourself, what is it?"_

_Biting her lip, unable to hold in the exciting news, she runs to the counter and leans against it; standing on her tippy toes. "I was asked to homecoming! I have a date!"_

_Rosita's eyes alight as she shoves the cookbook aside and grabs Gabriella by the wrists, "_mi hija, se buen! _That's great!" _

"_I know, mama, it's never happened before," Gabriella cheers, still bouncing up and down excitedly. "Can we go dress shopping, mama? I want to look nice for him, oh! I wonder what his favorite color is. Will he like it if I wore his favorite color? Maybe I should—"_

"_Gabriella," Rosita says, but her daughter doesn't cease her mumblings. If anything, she starts talking faster, Rosita sighs. "Gabriella—"_

"—_what if he rents a limo?—no, that's for prom…homecoming—oh! Does he have a car? If so, should my dress match his—"_

"_Gabriella! Sweetie," Rosita laughs, smoothing her daughter's permed hair. "Relax, we will go dress shopping. He will love you in it." _

The dress was a blue, strapless and her hair was done so it was up and down; her mother had put the faux-diamond tiara in her hair. She had floated down the stairs like a queen, that was a quarter to eight. It was nearly midnight and the homecoming dance almost finished when she realized that Billy Chris didn't show up—okay, he did and he did rent a limo for the occasion, he was standing up so he was half visible through the sun roof.

As was Barbara Thyme….

She guessed they wanted to play a round of target practice before homecoming because they shot water balloons full of green paint at her.

Ruining her dress. "Excuse me," Gabriella says, standing up from her chair and walking to the on flight bathroom. Grace and David only mumble in response but other than that, they don't look up at her. Fine, she doesn't need to see concern.

The bathroom is small, a small metal toilet in the corner with a metal sink to the left. A tiny mirror above the sink. Not Gabriella's ideal spot for sticking a needle in her arm, but addictions take president over finding comfortable spaces. Inhaling, Gabriella pulls the needle from her arm and the rubber strap; tying it around her elbow. A vein reveals itself to the surface.

Surely, her mom and dad would be disappointed and proud at the same time; proud for her career, disappointed for the choice she made—not like she had an option in the matter; no one really has a choice when they are tied to a chair, beaten while being read to from the bible because she was thought to be a 'devil'…

Sometimes, the unsubs are more than she wants to deal with.

Tears welling up in her eyes, she sticks the needle into her vein. She doesn't feel the pain any more, more like a bee sting, and the high that floods through her body lasts only a minute while she's in hiding, but she feels better and less brooding when she's around her team.

The high…the feeling of euphoria that envelopes her in its embrace, it's comforting hands. She sighs contently, capping the needle and putting it in her bag and rolling her sleeve down. Closing her eyes, she takes a breath and counts to ten before walking back out to her seat to look over the files. Sometimes she just needs a pick me up, and coffee from Black Rock won't cut it.

…**.**

"Sergeant Borris," Grace says, "I'm Grace Silver, this is David John and Gabriella Montez." The two of them give respectful nods, Gabriella bites her lip when the officer gives her a look that suggests more than the casual 'getting to know' status. Note: put him against the wall and cuff him to a pole or something, then avoid him.

"Welcome," Borris says, straightening his belt around his round potbelly. He swings a beefy arm around the station as he turns on his large feet, leading them to a room that's covered in papers upon papers of suspects—mostly alleged, but some close to what Gabriella and the others had been thinking. She can work with this, it's mostly deciphering facts of what they already know and putting together context clues that makes finding perps easy. "Everything you need or may need is here, and …if you want coffee, I'm afraid you have to across the station lobby to the break room—the coffee tastes stale."

David laughs, running his fingers through his mass of curls. "We've worked with less."

Grace nods, putting her hair in a low swinging ponytail. "Definitely true, so we'll get started now and let you know what we come up with." Borris nods, "about the victims, are they still at the coroners?"

"Families have yet to call and claim'em." Odd…

Gabriella shakes her head, tightening her jacket around herself; zipping it up despite the warm San Francisco weather. "I'll go to the coroners, see what I find on the victims other than what we saw in the crime scene photos."

"Yeah," David says, "and I'll go to the second dumpsite to see what can be dug up there."

"And," Grace begins, sitting at the table covered in files, "I'll sift through all this."

_Annalee Bolton_

The day is beautiful. The sky so blue that it reflects the on the water perfectly, the sun bright enough to wear her new Vera Wang shades. Her hair is pulled back in a braid—Troy had offered, strange for him, because he doesn't normal offer things like that. But it was nice, almost like they were bonding….

In a weird way.

She laughs, seeing her friends play chicken in the pool. Troy sits on the edge, his feet dangling in the deep end; his fingers gripping the wall so tight his knuckles change color. She sighs, shrugging as she picks up the latest issue of _People _magazine, flipping through it as she reads the latest news on Zac Efron—hmm, _July 28, Zac Efron and Channing Tatum to appear on Running Wild with Bear Grylls. On NBC. _She'd check in, Annalee always gets a kick from watching those Survivor shows; how they always start off so cocky but then they….they get a figurative boot up their ass when they discover it's not as easy as they thought it'd be.

Heh heh. Classic.

"No!" She looks up at the male voice screaming, Troy is flinching away from the group of boys with muscles bigger than his. "No! No! Leave me alone!" He kicks his legs, thrashing his arms about "put me down!"

Annalee shuts her magazine, getting up from her lounge chair and walking over to the scene. "hey…hey!" she yanks off her shades, glaring her blue eyes at the boys. "Put. Him. Down."

One of the more muscular guys smirk, his eyes shining like Loki's from the Avenger's—whenever Loki said something snarky, like that. "Babe, I'm just helping him out."

"He was perfectly fine." She looks at Troy, his eyes are hooded, lips turned down and his every muscle tense as if he's reliving some horrible memory. "Troy—"

"I'm—I'm fine…" _No you're not. _She looks at the boys again, tapping her foot as she crosses her arms over her ample chest.

"Put him down. Now."

The guys shrug, looking at her then at Troy as their smirks widen, Mr. Loki Eyes speaks for the group once more, "whatever you say sweet heart." They all drop Troy on to the concrete, who hits the ground with a thud. Did he hit his head? Annalee makes a note to check later.

Curling his knees, he pushes himself up on his arms, looking down at his toes like a scared child. Annalee feels her heart break, "Troy? Are you okay?"

"I…I…" he swallows, closing his eyes at the group of boy's laughter. He's still tense, then…suddenly, he relaxes. Looking up at the Mr. Loki Eyes with the deadliest of glares. His eyes are flat and empty, his lips unmoving as he moves with a quickness she's never seen of him before. In a flash, the two are wrestling in the pool. It's no question who won, Troy wasn't the one who was floating face down by the end of it.

"Troy." Annalee whispers, watching her older brother climb out of the pool. "Troy—"

He shakes his head, breathing hard as he turns around with a prowess he doesn't normally have as he stalks off. Hands clenched, back tense. Head down.

**REVIEW!**


	6. 5: Tabby

A/N: _A little of a shorter chapter, but I did that on purpose. Next chapter will be longer, starting with Tabby again just like this one._

**Story soundtrack:**

_1- Still Of The Night by Whitesnake_

_2- Far From Home by Frank Stallone_

_3- Time Of Dying by Three Days Grace_

_4- Welcome To My Life by Simple Plan_

_5- Trouble by Britney Spears_

**Story questions:**

_What's your opinion of this story? How do you like the character development so far? Do you think Troy is devolving while Tabby gains more control?_

* * *

**Cracked**

_Tabby_

"_No-no I …." Troy panics, racing across the tiled floor in his mind, the walled room seems to get smaller as he paces quicker. His heart pounds in his chest, the blood pulsing in his veins, he can't…no, he won't accept what happened. He was attacked first. That guy attacked him while he was just sitting, kicking his feet in the water. _

"_Troy," Tabby says, sitting on the bed wearing a black lace negligee that stops at the top of her thighs. Black heels compliment her pale skin and her nails are matching with a coat of dark purple. She looks beautiful, Troy stops to look at her. His groin tightens against his jeans—that somehow turn into loose fitting sweats that hang low off his hips, his shirt disappears and his hair turns lightly sweaty. His skin shiny. "Come sit, doll." _

_His legs seem to act on his own. Walking to the bed where she pats the soft mattress with her small, delicate hand. _

_Nonetheless, no matter how much his body is reacting, he's panicking. Sitting on the mattress, Tabby rubs her hands sensually down his spine; tickling her nails down his soft, warm flesh. _

"_I—I…" _

"_No," she purrs in his ear, kissing his neck as she moves to straddle his lap. He whimpers under his breath, memories of his uncles and dad hitting him. Tabby gently grabs his hands and cups them to her breasts, rubbing his palms over her nipples. _

"_Tabby—that man at the pool—"_

"_Troy," she whispers, her lips a breath away from his, she runs her fingers through his sweaty hair. "He hurt you. I took care of it." _

"_You…you killed—"_

"_He's just like everybody else." _

_Troy looks her in the eyes, eyes that match his own but seem more vindictive. More…defiant. Beautiful. "He would've…hurt me. Just like _them_." _

_Tabby nods, barely touching his lips as she closes her eyes, her lashes tickling her cheeks. "I handled it. He won't hurt you anymore." _

_Troy sighs, leaning his forehead on hers. Rubbing her breasts with his hands more firmly, but still overcome by sudden shyness. Biting his lip as his heart starts to race; pounding behind his ribs. "Just relax, my Troy." Tabby whispers, "I'll handle everything."_

"Everything," she whispers to the mirror, dabbing her index finger on her lips to wipe off the extra lipstick. Her lashes flutter as she listens to Britney Spears' _Trouble_, her hips sway gently to the music as she curls her pinky in her hair. Her eyes look deep in the glass, searching for the part of Troy's soul that has her in it. The part of his soul that has everything that's her….

She see's nothing. Her eyes growing darker, she flips her hair over her shoulder and walks to the iPod doc, turning up the volume until Britney's voice bounces off the plain white walls; the mirrors shaking on their hooks. She looks in a mirror to her left, moving her body to the music—gyrating her hips and rolling her shoulders like she's a Spanish dancer.

_Trouble Trouble Trouble _

What does she see in the mirror? Touching the glass, the coolness seeping in to her skin through her palm. Troy's calm, sitting on the bed in her mind. She looks down at her bare feet. Her toes are painted dark purple, matching and contrasting the lavender of her short dress—the tight leather cinching her body and giving her the curves of a goddess. Tabby sighs wistfully, looking in the mirror again for a minute longer before turning away and grabbing a pair of strappy black heels.

She may not see what she wants to see, but she will see what Troy wants to see—a world without hurt. Without pain.

Even if she must get her manicured hands dirty to make it so pretty. "Don't worry, dear Troy." She whispers, grabbing her velvet jacket and a matching black top hat, walking to the door and down to the street. "I'll keep you safe in this black, black world."

Her heels clacking, she walks slowly and seductively through the thin throng of people. The sun is still in the sky—all beautifully smooth, cloudless.

Her iPhone beeps. (Oh how nice of Troy to get one for her when she's free of his mind, it'd be awkward to talk on his phone to all the men she meets). Smirking, she taps the screen, putting it to her ear. "Hello, Matthew." She sings, "What brings your voice to my ears?" Inside, her gut twists and Troy stirs awake. She shushes him, calming him and telling him again that she'd handle everything.

Matthew chuckles on the other line, "I'm in Los Angeles—"

"Matthew, doll," she says in her accent, "that's a few hours away from here."

"I think you can make allowances for me." Oh that she can, certainly. Biting her lip, Tabby touches the rim of her top hat, tapping her heel on the sidewalk as she stops at the corner. Looking side to side. Good, no one's coming toward her.

"I can.." she purrs, she hears Matthew groan. Oh he's so cute, too bad he must be away soon. He brings pain to Troy's present, as much as he did in the past. "Where are you?"

"That's my girl," she can practically see him smirking. He tells her that he's in a bar, the sound of clinking glasses, obnoxious wait staff and loud drunks are proof of such details. She wrinkles her nose, taking a breath and pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I'm not a bar girl."

"I know, doll—"

"Can't you come here?"

"What if I'm seen—"

"By your niece?" Ever since Matthew had discovered Annalee, she wants no part of him. She may be clueless about everything else that they did to Troy, but she's seen the scars. The bruises. No doubt the screams in the night are a big tip off too, of course, it's been awhile since Troy screamed so loud in the night. Tabby pouts, "do you not love me anymore?" she sniffles.

"Oh come on," he retaliates, "of course I …like you very much."

"Then come here, I'll be waiting at Cabana." Before Matthew can say more, she hangs up, sliding her phone to her purse. Smirking, she walks to the club; a small business owned by Holly—a lovely woman who has a great girlfriend; a great couple, they always give Tabby free drinks. Of course, they don't know about Troy, assuming she's a kinky, bisexual woman who loves to bar and club hop for kicks.

Partially true. She likes to rid the world of darkness, painting the world in her own brand of warmth.

* * *

**REVIEW!**


	7. 6: Troy Bolton

A/N: _Sorry it's late. I have had crap in my life. Oh! I got a job at Wal~Mart, but it's a night shift (10PM - 7AM) so I can still write :) So happy! Whoot. Anyway, this chapter is slightly longer. I know I said I'd start it off with Tabby like last chapter, but I got inspired by the song_ **Monster by Imagine Dragons**_. I hope you all like this chapter, it's a little darker than the others...stay tuned at the end of the chapter for a spoiler for next chapter. _

**Story soundtrack:**

_1- Far From Home by Frank Stallone_

_2- Still Of The Night by WhiteSnake_

_3- Time Of Dying by Three Days Grace_

_4- Welcome To My Life by Simple Plan_

_5- Trouble by Britney Spears_

_6- Monster by Imagine Dragons_

* * *

**_Enjoy the chapter my lovelies!(:_**

**Cracked**

_Uncle Matt_

The traffic on Rodeo drive is murder. Bumper to bumper, worse than New York if anyone were to ask Matt's opinion, but they don't. So he keeps his opinion to himself…until he gets to a bar and sits on a stool next to his lady in leather; with her pouty lips and her devilish eyes—eyes as blue as his, familiar, but with the seduction in them, he shrugs off the familiarity. Maybe she's some chick he banged in college. Sighing, he leans back in his drivers chair and turns on the radio, thumping his thumbs to the beat of….some song he's never heard of, but it has a good tune.

Yeah, _…welcome to the new age, to the new age. _He can get use to the song. Turning it up, he rolls down his window and sings loudly. He gets a few eyes, but he flips the people off and continues his expressive vocals.

The light turns green, he drives on. Tabby hates it when he's late. Hopefully, he'll only be late enough that he can sweet talk her into her forgiving him so easily.

_Gabriella Montez_

"The coroner said what we discussed," Gabriella begins, tapping a small pencil on a pad of paper that she had written notes on. Some what the coroner had repeated and some were her own thoughts when she saw the body. She looks around the room, Grace sits on the table, going over the files. David isn't here, he must still be at the dump sight. "Grace…hello?"

"Huh?" Grace says, looking up, "oh hey, how'd the coroner go? See any cute ones?"

Gabriella raises a brow, "I hope you aren't talking about what I think you're talking about….cause the only cute ones I saw were the bodies."

She makes an unattractive snort, shaking her head and running her fingers through her hair as she goes back to looking through the files, "I am just messing with you. Anyway, I found some information on our first victim—"

"The John Doe." Gabriella says when Grace nods, standing from the table and moving to show the file to her. It's a couple pages long, a medium sized picture of an attractive dark haired, broad shouldered man who looks like a teenager, smiles up at her. His eyes so full of life—very different from the lifeless body she saw in the morgue. She touches the guy's photogenic lips. Reading the information to the left of the picture. "Charles Sweeney. Age—twenty seven. Student at Anthem College in Oregon."

"Exactly." Grace says, "He's an all-around good guy. Why would our un-subs target him?"

Gabriella looks at the information again, then the photo, then Grace. "Maybe something in the past that connects them—maybe Charles raped our female un-sub and now she got her revenge—"

"Yes, but it's the male doing the raping Gabs."

Good point. Closing the folder, she sets it on the table, "maybe he—"

"—isn't connected to the un-subs at all." Grace interrupts.

Gabriella chews her bottom lip, if she didn't have heroin flowing through her system right about now then she would be morbid and be suggesting the worse possible scenarios—well, with her job, that is to be expected. The worst possible scenario. But with the heroin in her body, flooding her veins, putting a sense of peace in her mind that she doesn't normally feel, she only chews her lip when she's unsure and thinks of the mild case scenarios.

Ones that don't have the other agents looking at her, sending her to the chief and having her undergo therapy with the bureau shrink.

"What about vic 2? Mitchel McDermott?"

"Nothing that ties him to the un-subs either…"

"So this couple is killing at random?"

"Looks like it." Grace chews her inner cheek, her fingernails look like they've been chewed to the nub. Sometimes Gabriella wonders if she can use a heroin boost too, but doesn't ask. This is her secret…and it's never to be shared with everyone.

The two are silent, looking at the file and pondering how the un-subs choose their victims. If they have no previous connections, then….it has to be random. Like maybe an 'I feel like killing the captain of the football team' kind of thing. "Want some coffee?" Gabriella asks, pinching the bridge of her nose as she feels a migraine coming on.

Grace wrinkles her nose, not looking forward to the stale coffee of the police station, but nods as she loops her arm with Gabriella's. "Lead the way, ol' pal o' mine."

"You are so weird."

"So they tell me." She can't help by smile as they walk to the other side of the police station, where the stale coffee smell is over powering and…

They have to find these un-subs. Before they hurt someone else, before the woman lures another man and the poor victim ends up in another dump site. "So, think we'll find the guy?" Gabriella asks, voicing her fears –something she doesn't normally do, but with the heroin in her system, she doesn't care.

Grace looks at her, grabbing a Styrofoam cup and filling it with some "yummy" coffee. "Is that doubt I hear in your voice, dear one?"

"Well….we have lost un-subs before—"

"Yeah," Grace says, taking a sip of her coffee; wrinkling her nose in distaste. "That's cause they choose to die via suicide by cop."

Well, there is that…but still…

"Why do you ask, Bella?" Grace asks, using the name Gabriella hasn't heard for years. She doesn't know why she asked, maybe…maybe she is tired of the dismal greyness of the job. The job that was exciting in the beginning; the rush of adrenaline getting her heart pumping in a way that she couldn't even explain to anyone. Then last year in Dallas happened, when she was kidnapped by Holiage Dole and held for three days.

Her team thought she was dead, she's sure, but no-one says anything to her face. She can see it in their eyes every time they look at her, so do they suspect her addiction?

Gabriella shudders at the thought, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. "Bella? Gabriella?" Grace asks, snapping her fingers in front of Gabriella's eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" No, she isn't. Her fingers are twitching and her palms are sweating, she feels the familiar twinge in the back of her neck that runs down her spine. Her gut twists. "Gabs—"

"I'm fine." Gabriella says, "Let's just—let's just focus on the case." She forgets her coffee, walking to the women's bathroom.

Grace sighs, taking another sip of the awful coffee as she walks back to the small room to brainstorm. She wonders how David is doing, maybe he's had more luck at the dumpsite than she's been having.

_Tabby_

_A monster, monster_

_I've turned into a monster_

_A monster, monster_

_And it keeps getting stronger_

Music plays softly, back ground music, she leans on the bar with a drink her hand. Perfect manicured fingers tap on the glass to the beat of the Imagine Dragon's tune. Humming softly, she feels a hand on the small of her back and then warm lips touch her ear.

"You look beautiful." Her stomach coils, and inside, Troy stirs with unresolved anger.

Tabby smiles through it all, "and you…dear Matthew, look adorable." _I can't wait to feel his throat melt in my hands. His body go limp with death. _

Matthew smiles, twisting her around and grabbing her by the hips and planting a kiss on her lips. Troy shivers inside her, wanting to shove his so-called uncle away. Tabby does so, but gently, so it's mistaken for teasing. It works, because Matthew kisses her again.

He smells of tequila. "Matthew," Tabby drawls, "not in public, doll."

He laughs, "Of course not, I know you're a private woman, so where…"

She whispers in his ears, "there's an upstairs….I rented it just in case you were feeling…._frisky._"

"I love you when you say that." _Of course, you slug. _Grabbing his hand, Tabby leads him to the second floor of the Cabana. Hmm….soon she will ease the beginning of Troy's pain. Erase all the hurt in his life.

"_I want to do it." Troy says, his voice echoing with a demented, sick eagerness Tabby hasn't seen before. Her lips curl in a speculative smirk, tracing patterns on his chest. The tent in his jeans seems restrained—quite possible, because he happens to wearing the leather pants she manifested on him. Oh the joys of being part of one body with one mind. _

_Twice the twisted thoughts. _

_And Troy looks delicious in leather. _

"_Are you sure, my pet?" Troy nods, his eyes darkening with an evil gleam. Tabby places a tender kiss on his cheek before she wraps her arms around his broad shoulders. "Then you go rid the world of him. His evil won't hurt anyone else." _

Blinking, Troy comes to awareness. The noise is muffled through the floor and walls, so it must intense in the actual bar space. His uncle turns around, Troy maintains the guise of the debutant that Tabby is…. His voice goes higher than normal as he tells his uncle to go on the bed. "Moving fast, huh Tab?"

Troy laughs like Tabby would, years and he's perfected it. Twirling his fingers on his chest, "you just look tense."

Matt grabs him by the hips, kissing his neck as he hardens in his jeans. When he speaks, his voice is muffled against his skin. "I've had a bad week."

Troy chuckles, trying not to sound angry but seductive, not like he's plotting murder in his head right now but….thinking of sexual acts that would make his back stabbing mother blush and then drive him to the mental ward of the hospital. "Poor baby," Troy kisses him, shoving him onto the bed, intertwining their fingers briefly before he stands up and flips Matt onto his stomach. "Let me take care of that."

"Babe—"

"Take off your shirt." Troy licks Matt's ear, the older man sighs and obliges then Troy nips the flesh on his neck. "Take off everything below your waist." Tabby taught him to be selfish, how to defend himself. How to take a stand against those who have wronged him. So under the guise of her, as himself, he will take this kill. Matt won't hurt anybody.

Not anymore.

"Hmm," Matt moans, "I like what you're planning so far."

Troy chuckles, making no other sound as he pulls his uncle's head up by the hair and glares at him with a putrid anger that fills his body and rots him on the inside. Making him appear sickly and mean. "I want you to feel every hurt."

"What—"

Straddling the back of his uncle's hips, Troy quickly pulls Tabby's dress up. Flaring it around, glad for the fact that she doesn't wear nylons or tights. They make her itch, and plus it makes it easier not to wear underwear either…. He squeezes his uncle's wrists tightly, who's fighting him. "Hey…let g—"

"You won't hurt me again." Troy says angrily, losing the guise of Tabby's voice, thrusting his cock up his uncle's sphincter. Pressing hard against his flower. By the time he is done, Matt's flower will be swollen and red.

"Let—please!" another thrust and another, Matt feels tears running down his face as he tries to fight, but it's moot. It doesn't help that he snorted some of the good stuff before coming here. His muscles are laxed and compliant.

Another thrust, "Please! Let g—Troy! I'm sorr—"

"Sorry doesn't exist in my world!" a harder, deeper thrust. Matt fists his hands, closing his eyes at the sharp pain in his rectum as Troy continues to thrust harder and harder. Deeper.

It's been years since he's seen his nephew, and…he never suspected…

Troy pulls his hair harder, making his head lift forcefully until his neck is exposed. He sneers at his uncle, the wig framing his face and his eyes dark with rage as he pulls something from his sleeve; pressing something cold against Matt's neck. "Ever heard of the kiss of death?"

"Troy—"

"Black widows are among the deadliest spiders. Do you know why?"

"P-please…I'm—it was your dad…he forced—"

"Shut up." He presses the tip of the box cutter into Matt's neck, he hisses in pain. Tears running down his face. "Black widows are among the deadliest because after mating….they kill their male." Troy traces his uncle's lips, feeling Tabby pour through every ounce of his being until he himself is back in the safety of his mind on her bed while Tabby looks Matt in the eyes and speaks with a deadly voice in her southern debutant lilt.

"Troy—"

"Sh," Tabby says, rubbing her nose on his. "Normally Troy and I suffocate our prey—so they don't feel anything, but…he has something else for you. I would choose the humane way of killing you, my dearest, but Troy wants you to suffer. He wants you to feel every pain you gave him."

Matt tries to speak, but Tabby kisses him with a hot passionate that would normally curl his toes had he not experienced what he just did. Instead he weeps like a woman until he feels the box cutter slice his throat and blood runs down his chest and arms on to the mattress. Tabby lays him down, standing up and kissing his cheek.

"Good night, my heart, forever sleep in pain."

**REVIEW!**

_Next chapter spoiler: Gabriella bumps into Troy in the bar-he is dressed in his uncle Matt's clothes. _


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